Thursday, 14 December 2017

Lost

Sometimes, or even many times, the creative process can fail. I need to bite, to feel a subject, before pressing the keys on a keyboard. I can start but quickly realise that I'm simply not 'feeling' something. Sometimes it's difficult to finish a Blog.

Here's a collection of words that didn't quite make it to an actual Blog post.  I go from the moment I start typing with Blog posts so I have to be fast. It's all about the feeling, as mentioned above, the actual emotion at that moment in my heart. Every... single... time.



Digital
There was once a time when I actually had to venture out into the day, to say hello, to speak actual real words that could be heard in person but that was a long time ago. We’re now in a new age, the Twitter, Tinder, social age of connecting without barely even lifting a finger.

It’s madness that I can copy in a hundred people, the never ending friends list, sending many words of worth or, at times, words that barely make any sense. There’s no room for grammar, soliciting wasted moments when all you need is a letter. It matters not that the word, or letter, conveys barely any understanding but that’s okay, that’s perfectly fine, as it’s all quickly forgotten.

The stream keeps on moving, endlessly, capturing vacant thoughts, reposts, copy and pastes, with barely any new media assembled to ensure a smile. We’re passive, aggressive, ever ready for a fight and quicker to vanquish something that shows success from another. We’re guilty, we’re all there, with the digital eye ever asking us to submit more and more.

But, when that is said, I’d prefer the analogue way, the olden days, of actual dates within a day, to share, to laugh, to smile with an actual person.


Life
I always wanted one, a life, that thing that so many purported to own and share on a daily basis via social media. It seemed so serene, magical, filled with happiness and smiles of glee. Each picture, every single word, living a never ending dream of clean surroundings and soul feeding bliss.

I always wanted one, that life, with every solitary moment, each emotion, captured, distilled, created in a maximum shape of 2048px wide. Such beauty, such providence, a spiralling monument of momentary collages. I can, almost, taste the life I need to live, the life I want in so many ways.
I always wanted one, the life, where my moments were displayed to the world like a canvas full of fractures and faint ripples. I have shattered dreams to share, broken souvenirs, with doubts and fears hidden behind a smile or prevalence.

I always wanted one,


Moon
Suddenly, from the inner wishes of my soul, I decided to chase the moon that seemed to be surrendering in the dark sky. Jumping as high as I could manage I reached ahead, with all of my energy, grabbing hold of a star flying fast through the same sky. Swiftly, with ease, zooming away with the world’s wishes.

From the distance I spied a mountain, filled with forbidden fruit, a valley of wishes and fantasies. As the view approaches, appears, then vanishes behind me, surrounded by the star’s glow, I make a thousand wishes within a few seconds and moments. I want to be something that’s between black and white, something else, something… better.

I can see it, way away in the distance. The moon, glowing, smiling, casting a kind of solemn refection onto the world. It’s my destiny, it’s what I’m shooting for, where I need to be. Maybe I’ll float within the outer space, for a while, basking in the calm and silence of space. It’s hard to breath, it’s a place of splendour and fear, but that’s okay as I’m on an adventure of space and time.

I’ve mentioned flying, a few times, which seems to be a valid inflection of my spoken life. If you’re not flying then you’re grounded.


Mother
With all the strength I have in the world, I grasp, I hold, I try to retain you in this world but that’s not going to work. That’s never going to happen. The energy, the fire, it’s not enough and never will be. 

As a child we held hands, day after day, knowing that all the help I ever needed in the world was right by my side. I simply never, ever knew, that one day that hand may actually, forever and one more day, vanish from my reach. I’m strong in the world. I’m a bridge for others in this place, yet that came from you. You’re my blood, my life, which can never be forgotten as long as I can open my eyes and see the world.

There’s a lesson, there’s a momentary pause, there’s the life I’m in, within, that reminds me that I’m no more special than any other person. But, to you, I’m your Son, your life, the very reason why you still smile. 

We all must let go, at some point in our lives, as that’s life. There’s no preparation, there’s no saviour, there’s no book that will ease the answers before the question even appears. Time. The luxury of it all. Seconds. The moments we take for granted. Never look back at what you didn’t do, the things you said, as that’s all forgiven when a Mother looks at her son and tenderly whispers, “I love you!”

When you look into the eyes of your own children, if you have them, they too may one day have to say goodbye and that, that thought, is an extreme black hole of madness waiting to stab your heart until you bleed tears. It all comes back to time. How long? How much? What can we pay for more? 

There is no more time. There never will be.

I have to let you go


Sleep
The darkness crawls, aware, knowing how and what I’m feeling. Looking through the large glass windows, surrounded by man made plastic, into the night sky, sleep evades my every single thought. I’m awake, I know why, I cannot state the how, but this is the case no matter what flows through this heavy mind of mine. I cannot stop thinking about you.

As with many thoughts in this world it started with something so innocent, a moments momentary glance, a whisper that seemed to be passed across the room like a magical voodoo spell with intentions to play with my mind, body and possibly soul. Forget the mention of my soul, it’s as if I no longer have such a thing, as it’s yours. Cursed, the long-forgotten emotions left behind within the void of past situations. I’d misplaced such thoughts, banished them towards a place that could never be found again, in the safe knowing smiles that I’d no longer be a slave to the fruits of this life.

They say that the very first hello, that singular moment of impotence, when the air escapes your lungs and forces your heart into a place of suspension, is one of those life changing instances that seldom happens to most of us. You turned and in one instant I had to stop. Gathering composure, reaching for a smile to appear on my lips as I ask my stance to behave, I approached and began the usual play of words.

I’m still here, looking at the ceiling, glancing across to the time displayed on the wall, wondering how I’d managed to get to this place, again, once again, the place that I’d wished I’d never approach. 


Chameleon
As the words flow, from my lips, the soft echoes exhaled from my mind, I can see that you’re not quite aware of the deception forming around you. I smile, ever so slightly, while mirroring your stance in a way to create conformity, symmetry, a bonding of moments and intentions. We’ve already discovered so much about each other, the same interests, the same visions, the various moments that we’ve shared, in this life of ours, while walking separate paths. Until now. Right now, here, together, minutes after saying the very first hello.

A few more moments fly past, words moving as they should, from person to person, respecting the flow of conversation, never interrupting other than to laugh or show a facial expression or two. I can appreciate, I can envision, but I’ve heard it all before. The same differences in all of us.  We’ve all seen a sunrise, possibly walked a few mountains in our time, kissed a few fools, slept with a few misses and regretted a second or two.

The drinks vanish, with renewed glass re-appearing as the hour strikes its hand against the clock. Time, flowing as it does when you’re having fun, within the objective, doesn’t care for what we have to say. It’s all forgotten before the words even appear within our minds. I know that I’m wearing a mask...


Pounds
Staring at the phone, wasting time, thinking, excluding the thoughts that I should be thinking, I wait that little bit longer. It’s been awhile, an age, which feels like years, since I last listened to your voice. 

It thrills me, excites and fills my blood full of warmth and calm. You’re special, you’re ‘that’ person in my life. I miss you. Love you. Need you. But, when all thought is said and flutters through my mind, the words are nothing when compared to actually being with you. Around you, holding that hand of yours and, of course, battling through this world that’s been graciously given to us.

For everyone, for everything, find the warmth this Christmas and never, ever, let it go.  No matter the distance, or time… give love this Christmas.

Or £50. I’d also like £50.  Thanks.


Down
Focussing across the ring, I know that you’re there, celebrating an early victory and relishing your jubilant outcome. I’m not one for confrontation but, when that’s said I’ve heard what’s been done, I’m hardly a shrinking violet and will protect what’s mine. This means, right now, that I’m here and I’m going to fight for what it’s all worth.

Vile words, pretentious assignations with others, it’s all been going on for far too long and, as I stand, I smack the gloves together knowing what I’m about to do, no matter what, needs to happen. Standing, slightly hoping from one leg to the other, adrenaline spikes and I’m called forward. The words of the ref resound in my head, meaningless moments, all vanishing as you stand in front of me.

The bell rings, echoing through the room, as the resonant shouts, screams and insane advice are thrown into the air.  Stepping forward with speed, you’re upon me as I defend my head. Words, slapping around my ears, doing little damage until you throw a solid jab into my...


Frank
Frank leaned over, opening the drawer, pulling out a small photo album. With sorrow filling his eyes, the moment suddenly slowing to a standstill, he places a hand onto the album and smiles through the sadness. Looking away from the photos, smile vanishing as quickly as it arrived, he handed the leather encased collection over to me and started his story.

They’d met, 42 years previously, in a busy market. He couldn't actually understand, or even recall, when he’d even visited the market on that precise day but, nevertheless, he was thankful for being there. Walking slowly, not really interested in all of the various items, ranging from old compact discs, to VHS tapes, he wasn't really that interested.

As he approached the exit he heard a commotion behind him and, looking behind, he caught sight of a woman complaining about a purchase with her back to him. In those days he was a big chap, bulky, as he worked out and, being honest, he didn’t really bother with hair gel so it seemed to just stick out a bit. It made him look tough, or stupid, but he didn’t mind either one really as he knew who he was at heart. He turned, walked over, to stand behind the woman. He glared at the guy who, catching Frank’s eye, quickly and quietly exchanged the item.


Tuesday, 12 December 2017

Dice

Licking his lips, just after exhaling the cigar smoke, he placed a finger ever so slightly above his head for what appeared to be less than a second. Watching the smoke move through the air, he held the dice between his fingers, quickly capturing the numbers and their position. The numbers flew through his mind and he settled on the digits required.


Double deuce, to many, was not the most important number but, right now, it was all he needed. He called it, spoke the numbers and there was no going back. The noise, within the area, settled to a calm buzz and as he threw the dice at a specific angle, while leaning towards his son, he whispered, “You see son, it’s all about the specifics in this life.”

The dice flew, almost reaching slow motion to the people gathered around the table. With the brief second, which is all it took before the dice started to bounce across the surface, he blinked and rested his hands onto the edge of the table. A sudden calm feeling reached his mind, a resting feeling, almost the same as a running water tap being turned off. Two bounces, maybe four, are all that the gatherers witnessed before they all focused on the dice.

The uproar nearly filled the entire place. The dice, exclaiming their number in virtual silence, screamed the double two that he’d predicted. He’d smile, maybe even dance a little dance, but any further attention, at this point, would not be warranted or required.  “Shall I add the winnings to your account Sir?” the host asked, to which a nodding head replied.

A small smile broke free, from his cast iron resolve, as he stepped away from the table taking his Son with him. “How do you keep on doing this, time after time?” his Son asked, realising that he’d never actually heard the solution the previous ten times he’d asked. As they reached the doorway, with a brief look behind him, they stepped out into the street. He realised, now that his Son had reached the age of understanding, that maybe it was time to explain everything.

Looking into his Son’s eyes, while slowly walking, he started to explain, “Maybe it is time. I know that you think that I’ve been cheating all…”
“I don’t Dad, not at all,” his Son interrupted, “Sorry, carry on!”
He could literally feel his Son’s interest escape from every single pour of his being, which was a good thing but, hopefully, he also had the resolve to see things through. Life wasn't easy, often cruel, but even worse than that is a mind going to waste. “What you see, is the dice fly through the air, coming to rest and the correct number appearing. What you don’t see, are the angles, the air within the room, the people around the table, the weight of the table, all of the opportunities to gather as much information on how the dice will land. You, as well as I, have a brain that can compute any number of outcomes. We've been to the Moon, we've split the Atom, so surely, honestly, you, or I, can gather information to ensure that the dice land exactly as they’re called?”

His Son, stopping in near disbelief, looked slightly confused as he tried to work through what was just said, “You, literally, figure out the amount of dice bounce, from just standing there?”
“It’s as simply as that. How hard will I throw the dice, with different surfaces presenting a different outcome. We've a veritable calculator up here Son,” pointing to his head, “which is left to rot. Filled with such rubbish that rests with us until the day we die.”


A great, big, silly smile appeared across his Son’s face finally, after all this time, realising that it wasn’t magic, or cheating, but actual talent. It moved him. “Can you show me?” he asked.
“Starting tomorrow, I will. But,” his Son’s smile slightly fell in fear of what was to be said next, “when you’ve analysed, figured everything out to a precise fashion, there’s the most important aspect that bonds it all together. Through failure, trying again and again, we realise that pure intelligence, or even just using what we have, is not enough without the heart. The heart forms and completes everything. Without that heart you cannot read the room, feel the room, know when to quit or to carry on. It’ll keep you going when your mind lets you down. When the world lets you down!”


Nearing the subway, he realised that there was a lot to learn, with many months ahead of them both, but he also knew that the mind could be used for so many other tasks. He’d decided on throwing a dice after his day job, but what would his Son truly become. No matter what he knew, what he said, he still couldn’t see the actual future. Sure, he rolled the dice, made his bets, judged the odds and won, but this wasn’t about his life. He turned to his Son, looking straight into his eyes while calmly asking, “Are you ready to roll the dice on life Son?”  His Son nodded, smiled, smirked a little, knowing that the future was about to get much more interesting. Besides, no matter what happened next, he knew that a mind was a terrible thing to throw away. It was, as his Father said, time to role the dice on life. Now or never, his numbers had arrived and he was going to embrace this path with vigour.

------------------------------------------------

How are you going to roll the dice today?
 

Wednesday, 6 December 2017

Hedonism

The music flowed through the air, soothing, sending calm vibrations into the dimly lit room. He knew, he literally tasted the music in the air, and felt its embrace as he walked across the room to the decanter.  Lifting a Glencairn glass he poured the exquisite Macallan whiskey and, as the aroma rose into the air, he savoured the experience and sipped. Slowly, tasting, feeling and ensuring that the pleasure reached his inquisitive mind.


Satisfied, aware that there were other pleasures in this lavish room, he placed the glass back onto the magnificent wooden cabinet and walked across to the Plume Blanche sofa. Running his fingertips across the soft fabric, which, above all things, featured a diamond encrusted setting, he smiled. With closed eyes, he let it fill his senses. He started to laugh while whispering ‘Magnifique’, to himself.

He was born, all those years previous, with a sense above others, a knowing, an innate longing. It started, slowly at first, like a flame wishing to roar, threatening to whisper words of desire and need. He’d sensed it, even talked about it at an early age, wishing and wondering about what he was experiencing. Knowledge, after all, could be a pleasurable endeavour. What you know, how you think, could design your life into a perfect state of order or, even, complete chaos if decided upon.

Opening his eyes, feeling his mind move from place to place, taking in the scene with unprecedented speed, he knew exactly what he liked and ensured that he would have it. Everything. No matter the cost, would be experienced. As a child, on the first day that he’d held silk, he knew that he had to experience everything life had to offer. He never struggled, as he knew his vices, his requirements of life, which meant study and placing himself in the right place, at the right time.

Money, that one thing that many desire, became such an easy commodity to acquire. It bored him, it held little value, as there was always an endless stream to be made. It never stopped, the pursuit of wealth, to which he decided to leave to a selection of others. He held a watchful eye but, after figure x, or even y, it held little worth.

He recalled the first time that he was truly upset, the first real time that he’d experienced real mental pain in his young life. His pet, the family dog, had passed away after living such a good life. He’d seen to this as it was his duty to ensure happiness for others. It hurt all the way to his very core, his beliefs, but this was life. After this moment, that one instance, he protected himself. Happiness, to him, had to stay stable. It was an absolute necessity. Pleasure, on the other hand, was the most important fact within his thinking.

Be it food, the finest wine, the lavish clothes or the latest accessory, he would experience it all. Maybe he was lacking something, some crazy chemical in his mind, or maybe he was far more attuned to touch and the aura of things. He needed to feel, to envelop his life with all good things. He’d worked damn hard, exhaustingly hard, which many simply did not see, so he deserved what was in front of him.

Looking back to the Whiskey, leaving the sofa to sit in its place, while touching the fabric on his Alexander Amosu Vanquish suit sleeve, he looked at his Audemars Piguet Royal Oak watch. It was nearly time. The greatest experience, he’d ever experienced, above the fast cars, the luxury apartments, the visits to the most aural locations in this world, was about to arrive. He’d always held his guard, for many, many years, as he didn't want to fully embrace his desire to feel with another, to touch, until a year ago. He knew that he had a weakness, a method to his inner madness, which he’d felt while taking a lover, or two, maybe even three, if he felt like it, but on that one very solace filled moment, he let his eyes become his soul, his wiring cross, his pleasure capacity finally letting go and falling.

The greatest pleasure, the most intense experience he’d ever had, ever felt, ever desired, was, above all, you.

Monday, 4 December 2017

Influx - Intro

At first you wonder what’s going on, standing there, living within the utter silence, with everything and everyone static for 12 minutes. At first you just stop, looking in disbelief, then, after the second time it happens, that disbelief starts to turn into whatever you like.


It started six months ago, while walking through the streets of this great big metropolis, minding my own business when everything around me, literally, stopped. Cars, buses, dogs, cats, even pigeons, everything and everyone just froze. I recall eating popcorn, when it first happened, as I watched a couple of them fall only to stop a few inches away from the floor. It took me awhile to realise but I might just be the only person that this doesn't happen to.

After the fear fell away, descending into playful mischief, I’d started to re-arrange scenes but that was before someone died due to my meddling. Life has a force, a speed, which cannot be stopped. Or so I believed. Wind up a toy car, set it in place, then let go to see a great big thrust of life speed things back into action. Each change that I made had consequences, so after that death, I decided not to change anything unless it seemed reasonable.

In each of the 12 minutes I’d managed to gather as much money as possible, any possessions I liked, leading to life becoming a little bit stale. Imagine having the opportunity to own whatever you liked. Sure, it was stealing, but in the great scheme of things, the way things worked, we were all being short changed anyway. Anything and everything, for those 12 minutes within a day, were available and readily within reach.

Once, on my daily travels, I actually decided to stop a bank robbery. It was easy. Just wait, then on the dot, as the time approached, I’d just nip in and remove all of the weapons and drag each of them outside. Quite a bit of work depending on the size of the person but it was fun seeing their faces once the time elapsed.

12 minutes. Madness. Fun. Sometimes exciting, often strikingly cold and empty, but it carried on happening day after day. I recall visiting my family, the ‘olds’ as they liked to refer to themselves. They were still so young but, once the time arrived, I’d sit there just looking at them, burning their image into my mind as I knew that, one day, they’d leave this place. 12 whole minutes of calm and remembrance. Anything they wanted, they had, without question, but with limits. Although 12 minutes wasn't the longest time, I made sure that each item wouldn't be missed. It was one thing to be able to do whatever I liked but, eventually, someone, somewhere, might just notice.

I’d listen, wait, and then travel to a location where crime ran free. They wouldn't miss their cash, or guns, and they wouldn't come looking that far in fear of questions. They usually turned on each other but that was away from any conscience I had.

I realised, after a while, that if I walked up to an item, once everything stood still, I could usually get it to continue. It took concentration and effort, but eventually I’d get there. I knew, however, not to drive a car until after the time elapsed. That could get tricky smashing straight into a stopped car.

Everything became normal, very normal, as with many things in life. I’d see devastation in some of the buildings I’d visit, looked into the eyes of stone vapid killers, then take every single scrap of cash they’d taken from others. I’d leave gifts for people that didn't seem to have much in life, but with many things it was the individual day that decided what I’d do.

Many would think that I'm being calm but, you would be to, because losing my mind just wouldn't work with the situation I'm in. I want to stay alive, I need to keep on living and although I'm on my own in all of this, I’d going to find help on this very day. There’s a couple of people that I think can help so the time is now. After all, although I've come to terms with things, although I know that this may never stop, I'm okay with the way things are, or were, until the day that I saw them everywhere. Then, as the 12 minutes arrived, they moved.

Tuesday, 21 November 2017

Home

Flicking the light switch, up, then down, then repeating a few times in a vain effort to change the known, a smile appears on my face and I look down the long corridor. Serene, at peace, a long solemn but never forgotten building. I’d lived here, as a child, until I thought that I was ready to face the world, the great supposed known. I knew little back then, probably still don’t know enough, but if I could I’d have probably stayed a little bit longer.


I was eager, alive, full of energy, just like the walls in front of me and probably as tough.  They most certainly no longer make houses like this. Running my fingers across the wall, as I slowly walk forward, I close my eyes a little, remembering the daily buzz. Playing with toys, from one end to the other, trying not to trip anyone as they went. My Father, as with many Fathers, wasn't here that much or, if he were, silence was the spoken tongue until he left again. Mother, as usual, stayed to turn us into the adults we were destined to be. She tried her best, being as magical as she was, always remaining someone to cherish, to look up to, but like many things in this world… there is a time.

A momentary second of sadness floods my mind. I know that I'm never alone but, no matter who I'm with, there will always be that space. This building, with its mood filled light emanating through the window at the end of this hallway, would always stay within a small little secret place within my mind. Memories, mostly good, always a smiling event, bring with them a longing to return to such easier days. I know that it won’t happen, it’s far too late for that, but I can at least revisit one, last, little, time.

It’s odd to think, to realise, that no matter how many oceans you travel, no matter the names you write across your lips, you still return to those special places and moments. As children we might eventually let go of the comfort blankets, the teddies of safety, but there will always be moments that hold and comfort. I know that I don’t need such things, as I'm supposed to be strong, a statue, never failing to protect the ones I love, but there will always, always, be cracks just below that surface of valour. I do, after all, harbour broken souvenirs that no-one will ever take from me.

I remember stamping my foot, in defiance, in this very doorway all those years previous. My Mother, being the way she was, didn't shout and simply waited for me to calm myself. Shouting didn't work, as we were kids, my Sister and I, but what did work was common sense. Mother would eventually sit me, while I was still in a mood, then calmly explain the circumstances.  On this occasion, she said something that has stayed with me right until this very day and that little slice of advice was the following, “The longer you spend in a mood, the longer you waste time that could be used playing. There’s a reason why Mother says no and, if you’d just accept that, your life would be a lot easier”. I reflected for a long time, sat there, using this silly brain of mine, to reach a conclusion that was obviously obvious. Mother knew best. Always had. Always did. Always will.

This house, right now, was reaching the end of its life, with a new dawn arriving, looking for a friend that was no longer there. Time moves on, always, which means the old is eventually, in many cases, replaced with the new. It’s a progression, it’s life, it’s the cycle we’re stuck within and, even when this house and home is torn down I’ll still drive past and remember. This place, right here, held my heart within my Mother’s hands. It’s part of me. We all have places that are part of us.

As I reach the end of the corridor, I glance back down the hallway, for the very last time. Nodding ever so slightly I remind myself to never forget, to never let time fade my memories and moments. This place has felt my tears, had my blood touch its surface in one of those grandiose childish falls, heard me shout and held me so close. “Goodbye”, I said under my breath.


For everything, there is a time.

Thursday, 16 November 2017

Three

Walking into the room, the heavy door closing slowly behind me, I cast my eyes quickly across the surroundings and people. I know that I'm not your favourite person, right now, but I know what I'm here for and, if it’s something that I'm very good at, it’s apologies. The thing with apologies is that you only have to do one, simple, easy, little thing and that’s to frankly mean the words that escape from your mouth. Three simple little words. I’d chuckle a little, even smile, but I have to remain in the mood, keep the composure constant, as I wouldn't want to portray anything other than the solace I'm bringing with me.


I brush my shoulders, just in case, ensuring the spick and span etiquette be kept along with that mood I’d just mentioned. Reaching the bar, not too fast, not too slow, walking with defined confidence I make an order which receives a polite nod from the chap behind the bar. Something sensible, not too strong, as I can save that type of luxury for later. A type of credence is required, for the moment, with restraint being kept in control.

Turning, ever so slightly, I'm aware that you’re here. That’s unavoidable. I can feel you before I even enter a room. Maybe that’s why we’re so good together. Maybe that’s why it hurts when I know that I've done something wrong. I'm usually not the type to actually say a bad word, a moment out of time, or a lax interjection, but I'm human and the pretence of perfection is a hard thing to maintain. I'm not perfect, I'm far from an ideal dream filler, but I do try. You know that I try.

Demons entering my mind, as I take a small sip of my chosen sustenance, I make a move and in that second I can feel my heart start to taint my thoughts. That little trip, the cacophony of beats reaching into my ears trying to destroy that ever so controlled composure mentioned before. It will not have its way. It will not control me. Adrenaline be damned, be it controlled, or ruin what I'm intending to do and say.

The room suddenly feels very, very small. The view from my eyes seems to be closing in as I approach. It’s haunting, it’s an embarrassingly embracing feeling to know that I care so much for a person that my own body betrays my mind. Breathing, starting to shallow, before I admonish myself for letting my emotions over ride my thoughts. Again and again, I remind myself that I'm only here for one reason, for one person, which means that my own self-preservation can, for now, be pushed to the side.

As control returns I gather myself and look ahead, straight towards you. Eyes lock, small smiles appear, but I can see that you've been caused pain. It’s written across those eyes of yours whereas, being honest, I should only ever write my name across those lips. I've missed you, so damned much. If I'm not kissing you, then I'm failing with life. It’s a command, it’s my very reason, to love and hold you. It’s not a difficult task, it’s hardly moving a mountain, but it’s what I would and should do anyway. I'm supposedly a man and, to me, that’s what men should do.

My mind wants to race, it even wants to hide, but it’s too late as I'm here, you’re there in front of me, so now is the moment and this is where I do what I'm supposed to do. The smile doesn't hide your feelings but it does betray that you've missed me and, of course, I've missed you. Life simply isn't the same without you. It’s empty. Expressionless. Void of many reasons. I've already spoken the most important three words that a person can share with another, with each other, those ‘I love you’ moments, but now I'm here to simply say the second most important words,

 “I'm very sorry”.


Friday, 10 November 2017

Noodle

Let me tell you a quick story, about how I used to be. I was a bad little f**ker back when I was a kid and it was only going to get worse! You see, being honest with you, I had already done a lot of crazy sh*t, hurtful stuff, but that’s what you get when you've been dragged from place to place, home to home, not quite knowing where and how things would happen.


It all changed, one day, just after my mother cried for the second time. I don’t know which day as I didn't care about that stuff back then. Wednesday, Monday, all the same when you’re a kid waiting for something to happen. I’d just been expelled from another School, something about smacking a kid in the face until his lip burst, as well as smashing a window, but that’s neither here or there. We did stuff back then.

You see, I’d smashed the sh*t out of my Piggy bank, filling my hands with whatever I could find, as well as my secret pennies taken from the burst lip kid, as I wanted to get my Mum something to eat. We’d hit hard times, as usual, with another dead beat guy using my Mum for the usual stuff, making all of the promises in the world, delivering none, then taking another dream away. It was real. A wake up call for a kid like me.

I made my way to the shop. Sure, I could have bought some sh*t, chocolate, or filled myself with sugar, but I just wanted to buy my Mum something. That was all. I’d seen her cry far too many times as she just wanted a break, something real to hang onto, so there I was, a sh*t of a kid, barely passing an adults knees in height, off to the shop on my own.

I got there, as it wasn’t far, looking at the prices while being watched as usual. Yeah, okay, I’d stolen a f**k load of stuff but I wanted to do better. This was my present to my Mum. Maybe I was already starting to realise the sh*t I’d done. Maybe. Don’t know. Anyway I looked at the damn Pot Noodles. Bloody Pot Noodle. Two for one, or some sh*t, with me barely being able to count. Pays to listen in School you know.  Anyway the guy walks over, not happy with me being there, muttering something about being two for three quid. Yeah… I didn’t have enough and he just wanted me out of there.

So, there I am, in some f**king shop, crap all over my face, looking like a train had hit me, standing there looking confused as  the store guy goes on and on obviously wanting me to leave. A guy comes over, some stranger, saying in a calm voice, “I’ll get them for you!”  He reaches up and grabs two Pot Noodles, taking them over to the till. I didn’t know what to do. It’s new to me. I walk across, looking up, to announce, “I have money for them!”

The guy looks down, quickly, “I know you do but it’s okay.” Just like that, one moment of damn kindness confused me. Mum always said to never speak to any strangers and, looking at it from where I am today, the guy wouldn’t look at me so I didn’t have to talk to him anyway. He had a calm voice, kind, obviously, then when finished he handed them to me and before I could say anything else he walked out of the shop. I stood there wondering what had just happened and then, slowly, walked out of the store. The store keeper kept an eye on me the entire way. F**ker.

By the time I’d walked outside he was in his car, starting to drive away and, I kid you not, I put my arm into the air and gave him the biggest thumbs-up I’d ever given in my life and, for a second, a smile appeared across my face. F**k me. Someone being kind. Baffled me. When you’re a little, nasty, nasty f**ker you do give off that kind of appearance that people ignore.

I ran home, burst through the door, handing my Mum the Pot Noodles. She looked at me, with a daft expression on her face, before small tears appeared in her eyes. I know, I know, I was a damn kid, but that melted something in my head, maybe even heart if I had one, but it changed something for me. Some random person being kind, not a twisted f**ker, with nothing to gain, just being kind and, seeing my Mother cry, made me think about my actions moving forward. Yeah, I was still an evil sh*t but I was still kind. I was just evil to people that deserved it, not just everyone. Look at me now, with my own kids and wife, doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Providing, being there, helping. Being kind.

All because of Pot f**king Noodles.



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Could be a true story. Maybe. Somewhere.

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Monday, 23 October 2017

Warmth

Sitting here, realising what I've done, remorseful, brandishing my shame like a type of child’s blanket, I look around the room. Comforting, warm, with the ever growing feeling that, one day, I’ll have to let go and face the life in front of me. I'm not scared, hardly a coward, but moments like this are few and far between so I'm at a loss as to how I'm supposed to proceed.


Logically, methodically, the answer stares me in the eyes. Right there, just in front of my face, resilient, barking the truth at the top of a voice but, as usual, it’s not just about logical fact. There’s always feelings. Feelings that pick, damage, devalue and berate a person. Usually I don’t like to mix the two as they can confuse. One says yes while the other, often, states no. They say that you’re supposed to go with your gut but, when you’re honest, if ever, you know that ‘that’ view usually leads to trouble.

We’re all born beautiful, kicking or screaming, a near blank slate, but fate and fact have led to this very second. I'm not perfect, never will be, which is a design of life and society, but I can at least try. From across the room I can feel the heat, from the roaring fire, flow across my face and hands. It’s a special heat, not fabricated like many modern houses, despite the fact that it could destroy all I see, it still holds a place in my heart from when I was a young boy. That’s the type of heat that I want, that I need, from the people in my life. Real warmth, a real feeling, despite many of us being surrounded by fabricated and veiled lives.

We sit at home, alone or with others, yet feel the deepest loneliness that can hardly ever be shared. There’s moments, those seconds, while alone, where it manages to escape into the void of your life. You feel it, within those seconds, then quickly console yourself, maybe even brandish harsh words against your view, before conducting your composure to reach a valid smile that could fool but the most vicious truth seeker.

I'm stuck, here, right now, right in front of you. I find you exhilarating, I need you to be exciting, spontaneous, to take that fire from this room and to instil the feeling within my soul. I'm flickering, I'm but an ember of whom I used to be, but I'm never, ever, going to exclaim this to anyone but myself.

I'm not allowed, not permitted to do such a thing. We’d all like to reach out, at certain times, in order to seek help, but surrounded by souls working away at their own square of life, it’s selfish to expect a knight to move for a rook. Forgive me, I've slipped into a game of sorts while knowing, obviously, that life is not a game.


Maybe it is, maybe it’s just the way of things. I'm going to let go of the blanket, I'm pushing away the supports I've built around myself and, right this second, I'm going to step forward and do what I need to do. Time is precious and, more than anything, it must be lived. I'm stepping forward, to tell you, that you’re amazing. You’re who I would like to give me warmth. But that, when I reach the end of the words, is up to you and every other person we meet today.

Friday, 20 October 2017

Young

I was so young, all those years ago, with the oppression experienced by a child, carefree, without any weight upon my shoulders, albeit believing that I was always hard done by if I couldn't go out at a certain time. I thought that I knew everything, had the world figured out, yet still trying to understand the basics of maths and English.


I was so young, all those days previous, when I started the weekend job, venturing forward into the world, away from the safety of home and parents. It seemed easy, it all happened with such speed, but at that point in life it all moved at a snail’s pace.


I was so young, when I first fell in love, the heart strings finally being placed into the hands of someone else, someone new, with wide eyed feelings and trust. The world seemed to stop, for the shortest time, with each kiss and the thoughts that we shared.

I was so young when my heart broke, for the second time, the third time, while managing to also break someone else’s heart. It was tragic, it was a mess, with emotions spiralling out of control, the world making little sense while staying perfectly, exactly, the same.

I was so young, blaming the world for everything and anything. It was never my fault, it was not quite due to my beliefs or actions, with situations and stagnation settling. The repeating ways of the world ensuring that I, once again, managed to end up in the exact same place.

I was so young, when the world decided to apply pressure, with a mortgage and things to maintain. It seemed like fun, it seemed like the right thing to do, the same as everyone else, yet I had started to let go of the real safety net of home, parents, as well as the ease at which I previously lived. Life was happening and moving faster.

I was so young when I finally realised, on that amazing day, that I was to blame for all of my problems. I could no longer point the finger at other people, other loves or similar relationships. It was all me, the circular situations, that had taken many, many years to finally become reality within my heart and mind.

I was so young when I resolved issues of the past, a momentary reprieve and reset of the actions and circumstances of my younger youth. It was glorious, it was mind changing, plus also a tomb where being self sufficient belonged to my present and future.

I was so young when the biggest part of my life left this world, which nothing could prepare me for, no rhymes, no prayers, no sacrifices or situations. I was powerless, vacant, lost and for the shortest time, completely alone in the world. No matter how hard you hold onto a hand it will eventually, one day, let go.

I was so young when I realised that my friends, along with the people that broke my heart, with the people’s hearts I broke, plus the family in my life, formed who I am. They are special, they are my memories, my current space, as well as my past and hopefully future.  I have no enemies but a few friends.

I was so young when I realised that I would never truly, completely, understand life. I understood that there were questions that I’d never have answered, not even possibly upon leaving this place. I knew that if I could return to when I was young, to an earlier moment, I’d impart wisdom, I’d prepare myself, but I would still be too young to appreciate the words no matter the age.

I was so young when I knew that this is it, the experience, the crazy ride that we call life. We have to live every second, love every minute, hold onto the special people and be good to all others. We’re here together, with all ages alongside us, breathing the same air and speaking the same thoughts.

I was so young when I finally, on that last day, knew that it was my time. I’d loved many people, I’d left a few, had a few leave me, worked in many places, seen far off places, but still managed to reach the end of this paradox. I've always been young. I've always been that child that arrived into this world many years previous, but I never, ever, let all of the experiences take away that youth. Hold it. 

Embrace it.

I was so young… .

Friday, 6 October 2017

Paint

With a thunderous rapture, a cacophony of events smashing the brief second of silence, the brush moved with ease and effort. The canvas, A3 in size, is held tightly to the ground from a stand built to last, painting in whatever circumstances life decides to throw my way. With each movement, each moment of purpose, the picture forms and speaks to me.


I'm alone, on this mountain called life, viewing the valley ahead of me, being brave, fearless, vehement emotions beaming from every single slice of my skin. I'm here, right now, surrounded by the very nature that breathed life into my veins all those years previous. Nature, all around, feeding me, believing in me, wishing me to be all that I can or should be. The canvas, an expression of my mind’s eye, a place to create, to express, to clear my mind of the daily folly.

The rain starts to pour, covering the land all around me, washing away the weight of the world. Many words could have been spoken, in vain, in anger, but now all that can be heard is the ear splitting sound of said rain. Washing away everything, cleansing my soul, flattening the electric tension from the world.  I'm trying to feel free, apart, separate from the daily toll and toil of life. I'm here.

The rain kept on thundering to the ground, but with each stroke, with each deciding line, a splash here, a moment there, I'm creating the forward view onto this canvas of mine. I'm in control, I'm aware of what I'm creating, no matter how many clouds or moments, it’s my story, it’s my picture drawn in my own special, eloquent and specific way.

I don’t care about the rain, I'm ignoring the spurious thunder, I'm ignorant to the cold forming over my shoulders, as this moment is all mine. Stepping back, just a step, I can see the colours, merging, being formed from the rain adding their own take on my creation. It doesn't matter, it’s hardly a sin, as outside forces often try to reform whatever you wish to take place. It’s a liveable circumstance, it’s how I expect things to be, but that picture, it’s still there, alive, part of me, no matter how it’s changed or maligned by life.

I close my eyes, imagining my picture, the lines, the expressions, painting my heart out, while taking in the ambiance all around me. It’s the moment, it’s right now, it’s how I envision the finished picture whilst also knowing that it might not quite be what I wanted. It’s okay, it’s fine, as life is creation. Life’s a revolution of time, set to come back again and again. Maybe I’ll repeat this moment, next week, with completely different emotions, moments, but that’s what life’s about. Experiencing, expressions, trying the unknown whilst chancing and changing the known.

Another splash of rain, another stroke from the brush, the seconds ticking as the clouds allow a peak towards the sunshine. The thunder is over, the rain is at a stand still, with a new moment waiting behind the wailing. I've painted my heart out, I've done what I came here to do, to experience. I'm awake, I'm open eyed, despite the clouds, the rain and thunderous shouting.

Maybe I'm the canvas, maybe my words are the paint, forming, creating, showing each of you what I, we, you, could be. Maybe we’re the brush, taking control of our destined picture. We’re capable, all acceptable to each other, within the limits of our own sized canvas of life. Maybe we’re the view ahead, controlled by a higher power that holds the very brush that creates our lives or, just maybe, we’re none of the above. Maybe we need not be defined. Maybe we’re an abstract creation.

Either way, no matter the picture, no matter how smudged we become, no matter how the conclusive picture reveals itself, at least we tried. It’s complete, the journey for today, the task of the moment and, above all, I have something to show for the very seconds spent on this journey. I know that I'm alive, I know that I can even place myself into the picture.

The whole world is your canvas, no matter the weather or location, all you need to do is close your eyes and… paint.

Sunday, 17 September 2017

Prison

Resting my head, onto my hands, as my legs rest on the cold concrete slabbed floor, I realise that I'm here for one specific reason. I can look back, to the past, the misdeeds, the missteps, the never-ending cursing of faith or ability but, when I've finished procrastinating, I'm still the reason why I'm here.
The rain, smashing against the walls outside the cell, seldom bringing comfort but at least it affords a moments relapse from the silence. That, alone, can be such a deadly place to be. Alone, solitarily confined within your own mind, waiting for a respite, but that seldom arrives once your own mind starts to tick away at your patience, strength and resolve.


I often, while lying there, cold inside, think back to the decisions that I’d made. Should I have turned left, maybe the right side of right would have been best left alone, but we just sometimes do not know which way is left before looking to the right. Straight forward, the usual fast forward of life, grasping, shouting, thrusting forward with such strength in order to enforce the resolve of conviction, sometimes just destroys the very bridge you've created with our bare hands. It’s tough, it’s tragic, but it’s life. My life.

Lifting my heavy head, with cramping neck and trap muscles reminding me of the strain, I reach forward grasping at the thick black bars ahead of me. If I had the strength, the resolve, I’d use every ounce of my energy to escape this place. The bars, their imposing picture, become a constant reminder of the space just beyond my confinement.

The trouble with all of this, the very crux of the situation, the pondering insights into this very state of mind, is that I'm probably still here because a part of me doesn't want to leave. It’s safe, confined, away from the world, a palace of misery with no golden slipper at the end of the road. If I could turn anything into something else I just might. My companions, the stone walls, the dust, the shallow mattress, are all so perfectly safe. Maybe I'm deluded, promising myself that there’s bail just around the corner. A solution, a rescue, someone to take my problems away from me. Heaven knows I've placed my faith in others before, prescribed to them my perfect prescription of cocktailed comfort, but we all know that I'm the only one that can escape this place.

Using the bar to steady myself, I rise, slowly, to stand as tall as I possibly can. At any point, at any time of life, I can stand as I have just done, I can change my thinking and proclaim my innocence. It’s possible. I can dive, from this place, into an ocean of freedom. Sure, of course, I might not be able to swim once I get there but, amongst anything else that can be said, I’d prefer to try than die as I am in this place. 

I know the solution, I know the issues within and the cause of this cancerous position that I'm in. I realise that my dis-ease will form the disease that finishes me off, so right now, this very second, I have to decide. I have to take a single, solitary, motionless second to change something, to change anything, but most of all I have to realise that this prison, this very place, is all in my own solitary mind. It’s up to me to simply… Break free.

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So many people suffer from mental issues and, thankfully, there are millions of people that do care and ‘can’ care as many have been through situations or can at least try to appreciate or connect to those feelings.  There is hope and there always will be. Talk. Talk to yourself… Find an answer.





-6,188 suicides were registered in the UK and 451 in the Republic of Ireland since records began.
-The highest suicide rate in the UK was for men aged 40–44.
-The highest suicide rate in the Republic of Ireland was for men aged 25–34 (with an almost identical rate for men aged 45–54).
-Rates have increased in the UK (by 3.8%), England (by 2%), Wales (61.8%) and Northern Ireland (18.5%) since 2014 – however increases in Wales and Northern Ireland may be explained by inconsistencies in the processes for recording suicides in these countries.
-Rates have decreased in Scotland (by 1.4%) and the Republic of Ireland (by 13.1%) since 2014.
-In England and the UK, female suicide rates are at their highest in a decade.
-Male rates remain consistently higher than female suicide rates across the UK and Republic of Ireland – most notably 5 times higher in Republic of Ireland and around 3 times in the UK

Thursday, 31 August 2017

Bodyguard

Waiting, patiently, daydreaming, while playing with a cuff link, he stood next to the door as people walked past his view. He wanted to tap his foot, giving in to his impatience, but he knew better than to allow his mind to take over his view of the current world. People watching, resolving their situations, playing a game within his mind imagining how each of them interacted with the people alongside them.

To his left, the table closest to the expansive glass building front, sat an elderly couple. Both silent, they themselves people watching, having lived an extensive life travelling the world. Perhaps they’d really seen it all, with nothing left to say other than timeless silence, but at least he could see that they were still holding hands. Both of them, viewing the world, taking in the youth around them, probably thinking that life was simpler back in their day. It was, more than likely, with a stiff slap across the head if you stepped out of line. He let a very small, silent, expressive smile appear on his lips for the briefest of seconds before composing himself.

The couple at the table, to his far right, by the cashier’s desk, looked vaguely dissatisfied. Probably annoyed at being so close to the main walkway or, more than likely, they’d had an argument. The man sat leaning back in his chair, arms crossed saying nothing as she tapped a rhythm of intent onto her phone. She was messaging, not texting as that’s yesterday’s thing, which meant a dinner picture probably sending itself into the world. All it would take is one second, one moment of compassion and understanding, for both of them to smile again but, of course, that would be far too easy.

Just next to the desk, the lift doors opened, with people flowing forth in their quick rush to be somewhere else. These were the high rollers, the type that wouldn’t stand for such a restaurant, despite it already being far above what people would call normal. This place was special, but where they arrived from, it probably all seemed mediocre. Divisions, lines, scales of balance, all meant to keep people segregated in an invisible whisper of diversity.

With a quick glance to his right, taking in the view, he caught a glimpse of a gentleman glued to his phone walking slowly to the male conveniences. Probably an Entrepreneur, wanting to be noticed, judging by the level of noise being made by his voice. Brash, with a stylish hair design, new, spotlessly clean, to the point of over indulgence. He'd caught the eye of a lady standing over by the bar, threw a wink and a smile her way, then opened the door and vanished as quickly as he’d arrived. The lady, returning to her drink, smile falling from her face, looked discomforted and, of course, alone.  Good looking, striking even, with just under shoulder length hair and an outfit to much her ability to gain male attention. The shoes, obviously matching her bag and accompanying accessories, added the extra significance and charm.

Returning his view, to carefully look ahead into the area, he brought his attention to himself. A quick look downwards at his shoes, which were still viciously clean, a wobble of his tie, meant that he was still as he should be. Clean, crisp, equally fresh as the start of the night, waiting for her to appear for the second time. He didn’t mind the wait, not even for a second, as this was what he was made for, his purpose, to ensure that they both experienced the night as intended. Warm laughter, a meal where they could both flirt over a glass of wine, while wondering when and where they could both be alone, again.


The door, beside him, opened with a small whoosh of sound and he quickly composed himself. She was beautiful, magnificent, to him, in every single way. Each time he saw her again, every second, just seemed to be that experience that he longed for. He knew, no matter what, that he did have a job to do but this was more than a job, it was a lifetime. All other situations, all other people, no longer mattered as much as they did before. She smiled and, as she placed the final small implements back into her purse, they both started to walk towards the door.

With two quick steps he’d closed the gap between them and the exit. With one swift motion, while checking the area outside, he opened the door with a smile. She smiled back at him, saying ‘thank you’, as he followed behind her closing the door as he went. He carried the smile with him, realising the ease at which he respected her as this, after all, is the least of what a husband should and could do.

Wednesday, 23 August 2017

Operation

With steady hands, being minutely careful, the knife gently pressed against the artery and the importance of the situation suddenly became clear. One wrong move, a flinch, one small miniscule movement and the situation could be lost forever. The beads of sweat appeared across my forehead, my heart suddenly banging against my throat lining, reminding me, grasping at my thoughts, enlightening me to the dire position that I’d managed to get myself into.


The damage, as is often the case, was 60% inflicted by another, 30% self-caused and the remaining 10% an utter mystery. Even with eyes wide open, even with the smartest of minds, the best of intentions, we simply leave ourselves open to so much pain and suffering that it’s a wonder that any of us venture forward into the world.

The beeping sounds, emanating from machines and possible others in the room, all began to spin inside my mind. An impossible task, hardly considered a professional at such things, but I could never be chastised for not trying or at least caring. I'm a fixer, a problem solver, a solution finder and that’s remained with me since I solved my own issues. Despite life trying to remove such things from my consciousness, it’s still there, yearning, asking, trying to find the world to make things right. Either way, in this day and age, people seldom ask for help when presented with the Social Network of attention. A new age.

Looking at the void of another person’s heart, I swallow my fear, maybe even a miniscule taste of pride, readying myself to scrape away the disease inflicted by another. We speak such tepid words into the world, with vapid feelings, thinly veiled shouts for help, all the while knowing that what we think forms how we heal.

This person in front of me, right now, had entrusted her safety to another, interlocking their hands together, their lives, only to find that people can often change and become such monsters. It was too late, once you've fallen for the wrong person. It’s a shame as we’re all searching for something. Someone. A place to call home. We often fail to leave, until it’s too late, due to fear or a host of other ideals.

Scraping away the evil attached to the arteries, carefully, trying to erase the years of abuse, I suddenly see a clearing of hope. It’s possible, there’s light wherever we decide to look, if we decide to see such things. The trouble with life, with people, is that we sometimes simply don’t want to heal. We want to submerge ourselves in the pain, the loss, the ever-comforting dark whispers of a forgotten familiar friend.

I can see you sliding backwards, into the dark place you've called home for far too long. Leave, run away, get out, destroy that place, it’s but a creation of your own mind. Release yourself from that place. There can be windows where you only see a wall. There can be a door within the dark room of nothing. You control you and once you decide, you can be freed. You need not one other person than your own heart. Your mind. The strength given to you from the moment you were born. Survive. Thrive. Become more.

Although the task is an arduous task, a mountainous pursuit, no matter the outcome, I will always try to heal a broken heart. Although you need no other to accomplish this task, right now, for these seconds, I’ll help and guide until you’re able to move forward.  We, together, can repair some of the damage and the rest is up to you. Never stop fighting. Never stop believing in yourself and, at all times, repair your thoughts and heart.

With careful caring hands, I lean forward, touching your heart, reminding you that everything will be okay. You, after all, have survived this far into life so we can, honestly, survive the next few hours. A smile escapes through the fear, the solemn tears drying under your eyes, with hope threatening to keep your heart afloat. There’s hope, always, in all life.  Readying myself, taking stock of the situation, I hold your heart in my hands and brace myself. It’s time to hear the entire story, warts and all, with both sides possibly making an appearance and, within myself, a small part of my own heart escapes and connects with yours.

This is life, real life, with a person’s issues being larger than any other life. It’s expected. It’s permissible. It’s called being human. Now, please, tell me everything... .

Tuesday, 22 August 2017

Whispers

I heard a whisper, maybe even barely a thought, that seemed to want to resound throughout the world. The universe laughs, already at peace with the balance that we crave instilled into every corner, lacking on this very world of ours.


I heard a few words, nearly breaking through the deafening silence, created from spouting the same said rhymes and rhythms. It seems that the more people scream, the more they shout, asking to be heard by all, the more we switch off, fail to listen or even become swept away with the life we, as well as they, lead each day. When I was younger, listening through the silence, watching, waiting, too young to truly appreciate, I wanted to understand but didn't know what, the where, let alone the why.

A sentence forms, it appears in front of me, wondering and asking to be understood. I'm failing, am I succeeding, not sure of the reasons why I need the message at all. I'm lead by the words spoken on an elongated box, or the spouted poison spread through the on-line frequencies. Misunderstood, maybe, disproportioned, of course and misconstrued all day long. The words are created by others to control, to make you obey, play nice, to stay nasty, to mistrust and scorn others.

I’m close to visioning a paragraph, a strong structure of letters forming the many words. The font increases, becoming bold, starting to seem ever so heavy. We’re not built for such depth, the words that can free hold so much weight that it threatens the very world that’s been built for us. It’s heavy, foreboding, always keeping us on a knife edge yet happy with our new purchase.

I ignore the further whispers, replacing them, blanking them, ignoring their ever presence in my world. I block the weight, I remove the guilt, standing tall from my own two feet and morals. I do hear the words, I see their meaning, while others remain oblivious, but I am, we are, just the few within the very many. I could exhale my words, as I do, as I am with the typing clicks from this very keyboard, but there’s a limit to the truth that can be heard.

I raise my hand, blocking those heavy whispering vipers in the world, I've finally had enough and can no longer listen with the mind that I have. I respond with kindness, I realise that I do care, which is something that the media doesn't want. I summon my own thoughts, my further whispers, forming my own stability from within. Smiling, understanding, I proclaim to the world,

“If there were a thousand words, spoken in a thousand cities by a thousand people, hopefully, surely, the message of love would spread throughout the world.”

These are the whispers that we need, those are the kind of paragraphs that can conquer the hatred, the injustice, the idiocy of the way the world works, the kind of sentiment that the universe would be proud of.


Let’s start whispering.

Wednesday, 16 August 2017

Vie Heureuse

Stepping from the train, onto the solid surface, I drown away the surrounding noise with my innermost thoughts. I've been here, many times, on many occasions, travelling from place to place but on this day, this very day of days, I've returned to that one special place that holds my heart. Steady, calm, with nothing but a selfless smile across my face, I start the ever knowing walk to the destination ahead.

I recall the first time I arrived here, to the same hustle and bustle of daily life, people shouting, pushing and clambering to jump onto the train. Maybe most of them were escaping, back then and now, as a paradise to one could often be a hell for another. Either way, so far, not a great deal had changed. They say that when you travel through life you miss so much, with closed eyes, but for me, on occasions such as this, I try to slow time to ensure I take in as much as possible. A people watcher, a location learner and one of those that wants to experience as much as possible.

Walking from the train station, to the world outside, the sky loomed overhead, which for once was thankfully filled with blue instead of a grey. I turned left heading up the street. I’d often travel light, knowing that each destination would possess the required extras. We, as a people, can clutter, gathering as much of something or everything as possible. Travelling light meant no fuss, no error, always ready to run in case of being late or a taxi needing to be chased. To be ready, to know everything around you, meant a connection existed between you and the world. I’d like to believe that such a thing could exist but, as with many ideals and actions, as long as it made me believe in a better way, the task was accomplished.

People around me started to vanish, fade into the background, as my location wasn't exactly in the main area of town. It was secluded, off the beaten track, a prize to find and own. The magic in each location was seemingly handed to you, but the real magic was often behind the scenes. Life can be hidden, swept away, degraded into the b-roll of creative video. I, personally, would prefer to see everything that’s on offer. Warts and all. Show me the worst with the best, the great with the decrepit. Don’t hide. I know it’s there, even with each person, I know that we have things we’d prefer to hide, but even the grandest building, the most beautiful location, has cracks along the surface. It is life, it’s the experience, ready to be lived, loved and adored.

The buildings started to close in on each other, the path ahead shrinking to barely accommodate two people walking side by side. Silence, a range of colour from the overhanging clothes, drying with the aid of the sun, I could smell baking of some kind. Wonderful, filling, beautiful baking. Natural, real, all adding to the ambience and attraction of this place. A feeling of warmth flooded through me, into my veins, holding my heart with care and remembrance. Recalling the previous times I’d visited here, with each time affording something new, original, breath taking, I once again reminded myself of the reason why I returned here again and again. Beauty wasn't just the kiss from a lover’s lips, or the fragrance of a body, it could be absolutely anything at all if you chose to see it that way. Slightly overwhelmed with a slight rush of emotion, recalling the happy times, the sad moments, I stopped for a second. Just a small second.

Taking in the brickwork on the floor, the cat nonchalantly looking at me through the window, the background noise of a person cycling from left to right, I carry on moving forward. Ever forward. I remember a wise old man, all those years back, giving me some wise information. He told me, ‘no matter what you do, use each day to move forward. Even if it’s one single small step. The future doesn't matter as the future is but one second away’. He was right, he knew this to be true and according to the world, it made sense. In the blink of an eye the whole world could change.

A smile started to appear across my face as I neared my destination. Once in a lifetime, maybe even twice if you’re lucky enough, you could share a dream with someone. You can bloom, grow, become a better person and to me, this place, is where I became who I am today. We only ever used careful hands with each other, we only ever expressed our thoughts with kindness and love. In a thousand miles, with all the wonders of the world, this one little space, right here, meant more to me than all of those wonders.

Standing there, in front of the door, taking in the dark green painted wood, the quaint door knock, with the engraved lion head, I smiled another smile and laughed a little as all of the thoughts came flooding through. Raising my hand, placing it onto the door’s surface, a few small tears escaped through my eyes. The emotions ranged from grief, love, loss, pain and more. None of them removed my smile. This place, albeit a memory as I’d not lived here for 10 years, was ours for over 45 years until that day, that final day, where you left this world for a new adventure. 

We’d said goodbye, as I held you in my arms, looking through the window and listening as I’d done since the train arrived. I’d made it my purpose, my living objective, to eventually settle here. All my affairs were concluded, dots crossed and everything signed, I’d left the current life to return to this place. Free, ready, the remaining years set to be reminded of you. Removing my hand from the door I reached into my jacket pocket, finding the key, returning to place the key into the lock. Turning, with time seemingly pausing, all sounds erased from my current mind, I could hear the mechanism turn and with a small push the door opened.

A small moment of hesitation invaded my mind, be it fear, loss, it did not matter. Today was right now and each day, before this day, had led to this moment. Stepping forward, embracing the destination, I walked into this home of homes. Turning, slightly, I looked back into the street, remembering, recalling, all of the moments of that life. Slowly, with thoughts relaxing in my mind, I closed the door and exhaled slightly. A new life, a new start, began today on this very day.

I recall the first time I arrived here, to the same hustle and bustle of daily life, people shouting, pushing and clambering to jump onto the train. Maybe most of them were escaping, back then and now, as a paradise to one could often be a hell for another. Either way, on that day, everything changed. They say that when you travel through life you miss so much, with closed eyes, but for me, on occasions such as this, I try to slow time to ensure I take in as much as possible. On that first day, I’d met you.







Vie Heureuse – Happy Life